But We Were Young
by Elanor Whiteriver
Summary: Harry's grown up. So has Draco. They reminisce, only to discover one painful truth. Implied slash (HD). Companion to Iris.


But We Were Young  
  
^_^ I'm totally dried up with Iris, so I needed to write some H/D. This accompanies Iris to an extent, and gives it a little ending-thing (but Iris isn't finished yet, mind you). Might be a good idea to read it.  
  
This ficlet is very short, at least in plot progression. Slash. Implications of a little fun between two double-hot-with-knobs guys.  
  
HP doesn't belong to me. Blah blah blah.  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Harry Potter apparated with a crack into Diagon Alley, now twenty years old, working in the Ministry of Magic, an Auror. His black hair still stood away from his head, no matter what he might do to it, his glasses still worn, his scar as bright as ever.  
  
He walked with purpose along the street, remembering with a nostalgic grin the times he'd met Hermione and Ron here. He chuckled softly, thinking back to his first reaction when he learned they'd be getting married in a few months. 'Hermione Weasley doesn't sound right at all!'  
  
He popped into The Leaky Cauldron for a beer before he headed to his flat. In the obscure bar, it was hard to see exactly where the tables were; the place had become progressively darker over the years. He took a random seat at the counter, examining his surroundings.  
  
As he took his mug, taking a swig of the liquid, he noticed men with dark, scraggly beards, witches with soft, combed hair, and then, far from him, a glimmer of platinum blond hair. He could remember countless times he'd admired that hair, and his fingers tingled with the memory of the silk in his hands. Heat flooded into his body, his lips prickling at the thought of that one kiss in frozen time.  
  
The moments danced before his eyes, precious kisses and heat in the stark of winter. The hands ran over his body a second time, a third, his mind afire with a lack of ability to think. And all of a sudden, it crashed to a halt, tumbling over itself. A voice shattered his reminiscing, a melodically toned tenor aged three years from when he had remembered it.  
  
"Harry?" His head snapped round to come face to face with the features he knew so intimately, but now they were terribly far from his reach. Harry looked disbelievingly at the blonde before him.  
  
"Draco?" A quiet, quirky smile crept across Malfoy's lips, something Harry had long since missed.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"   
  
"Probably the same thing you're doing."  
  
Draco turned his head to the side, remembering the winters and summers passed, sweaty flesh, beating hearts and letters laced with red scrawl.  
  
"How are Hermione and Weasley?"   
  
"They're doing all-right, I guess."  
  
"That's good," he remarked distractedly.  
  
"You remember, Draco. I do, too. But it can't happen again."  
  
"I...I know."  
  
"As much as both of us wish it could..." trailed the raven-haired young man.  
  
"We didn't know anything, Harry. There's no place in society for things like that. Nor is there a place in our lives for such an occurence. Not anymore."  
  
"But we did! We were on top of the world. We didn't care what anyone else thought."  
  
"Such a precarious place, my friend. So easy to fall from the top of the earth, to shatter the mirrors of dreams."  
  
"No, Draco, no," Harry pleaded, shaking his head.  
  
"You must understand so well by now, seeing so many young wizards' and witches' hearts destroyed by gangs of queer-bashers and homophobes."  
  
"Things don't have to be that way! We can change the world...or maybe we could...but not anymore."  
  
"Things, Harry, used to be important. We used to run our lives. Now we're tossed about in the mill of everyday monotony."  
  
"As much as I wish I could disagree with you, you're right. We had everything. And we lost it to time."  
  
"Yes, Harry. Maybe we were something back then. But we were young."  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
That was really short. But oh well. I hope you liked it. R/R please.  
  
Elanor Whiteriver 


End file.
